


the night we met.

by thychesters



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddles, Dumb Babies, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rating May Change, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension, because i'm trash and you can pull this tire fire of a ship out of my cold dead hands, there are about 100 other tags to add and will be added as we go, trash trash trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 18:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thychesters/pseuds/thychesters
Summary: 60 Jossam prompts. Part of a "things you said" meme.Or: what sounded like a good idea at the time and now here we are.





	1. things you said at 1 am

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin.
> 
> Some of these are linked to others, but most will serve as standalones (for now, lmao). There is no one set timeline, and some will follow au routes while others will find themselves lodged in various parts of the game's canon, whether before, after, during... the whole nine. Welcome to my dumpster, please enjoy your stay.
> 
> Special shout out to Court for indulging me in 3 a.m. Jossam crying sessions, though we're both equally at fault. And babies. So many babies, dear god.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > 1\. ) _things you said at 1 am_
> 
> sneak into her bedroom without any heads up? that's a surefire way to her heart. 

He scares the shit out of her.

She’s usually asleep sometime after midnight, tucked away under her blankets and not quite the night owl she could be. She’s been tossing and turning for the better part of the past half hour though, unable to find the position that’s just right and doesn’t leave her arm going numb five minutes later or a crick in her neck. 

Her phone goes off, an otherwise obnoxious buzz against her nightstand in her otherwise silent room, and it takes a solid minute to untangle herself from her sheets, push her comforter off her head and try not to punch her phone under her dresser when she struggles to reach for it. Sam grumbles, something to coincide with that tiny feeling of dread in her belly because her mom used to say any calls or texts after ten at night were never good, and she’s momentarily blinded by the harsh light of her lock screen.

“What?” she gets out, voice only slightly garbled from lack of use over the past hour, and she clears her throat a few times, squinting through white light and momentarily berating herself for the too bright background she’s saved.   

> _J. Wash.: Hey. Let me in. I’m cold._

“What?” she repeats, as if parroting herself will give her an answer she didn’t get the first time around. Sam sits up, blankets pooling over her lap and a frown line appearing across her brow with the full intent of telling him to leave her alone and go to sleep or something. Decent people are trying to sleep, Joshua.

Instead, she’s interrupted mid- _shut up_ text by a ‘ _caw _’__  outside the window she’s left open a crack to let the breeze in, and she just about jumps out of her skin when it happens again, this time closer with a ‘ _Saaaaammy _’__  attached to it. Her phone hits her bed, slide across the uneven surface of her bunched up comforter before it hits the floor, too. She winces, and Josh pulls a face at her when his face appears at the corner of her window.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses, tone coming up with a little more bite than it had a few minutes ago as she pads across the room, willing her heart to climb back down out of her throat, and she has half a mind to pull the window the rest of the way open and push him off the porch roof.

“I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d swing by,” he tells her, forehead against the screen. How he managed to scale the front porch is beyond her, because Joshua Washington is one of the farthest from agile people that she’s ever seen. She’s also a little surprised she didn’t hear him climbing up, which is something to worry about for another time.

Sam narrows her eyes at him in the darkness, hooking her fingers under the window sash to push it up further, and he scoots a little closer, grinning back at her.

“And so I ask again, what the hell are you doing?”

He taps his fingers against the ledge, waiting patiently for her to take the screen out so he can barrel roll right on in—or as patiently as an impatient person can, his gaze flicking from her hands to her face.

“Like I said, I was just around. Couldn’t sleep.” He presses his face against the screen again while Sam goes to dislodge it from the grooves and tries not to make too much noise as she does. _Move your fat head_ is interrupted by, “Gonna let me in? Vampires can’t come into places without an invite.”

“Guess I could just make you wait forever then,” she shoots back, stepping aside to make way for his sprawling limbs as he climbs into her room. It’s by sheer luck that he doesn’t knock over the bookshelf or give her lamp a solid roundhouse kick, and she dodges flailing limbs while he curses under his breath. He’s the picture of grace, all rolled up in a Dorito-scented teenage package. “You good?”

“As good as I can be,” he says from the floor, rolling over and rocking up onto the balls of his feet. He’s still grinning up at her as she replaces her screen, tries not to think too hard on the fact that she has a boy in her room and her mother sleeping just down the hall. Hell, she’s surprised _mom_ didn’t hear Josh coming first, wasn’t out on the front step telling him to get down from there, young man so he could get another earful.

She watches him get to his feet, brushing himself off and cracking his neck as he goes. The hood to his sweatshirt is twisted, and she finds herself folding her arms over her chest, decked out in her pjs and not exactly dressed for company, present or otherwise. She prepares to make more demands as to what he’s doing here, why he felt it necessary to climb through her window, what was so important that he couldn’t wait until morning—actual morning—to see her for, and Josh plops down on her bed like he owns it.

“I forgot how comfy this thing was—stockpiling blankets really paid off for you, didn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks instead, and she watches his shoulders sag in the dim light trickling through from outside. He offers her little more than a one-shoulder shrug, right then too casual not to mean anything, but not enough that he’s going to divulge information without some prying from her. She pushes her window back down to where it was, the weather cool enough in LA that she doesn’t have to worry about heat stroke or having to dig out the fan that’s too noisy to allow proper sleep. Because some people are usually asleep at this hour, Joshua, not climbing through their little sister’s best friend’s window just because they can. (And isn’t that title a mouthful.)

“Like I said, couldn’t sleep,” he says, and she turns to find him sprawled across her bedding without a care—and not much room for her, either.

“So instead of bingeing movies or something, your go-to was to climb onto my roof? That’s a new one,” she says, and she gestures for Josh to get his arm the heck out of the way so she can sit, thank you very much. “Counting sheep has nothing on that.”

“Pop a squat, Giddings.”

“ _Pop a squat?_ Really?” She quirks an eyebrow at him in the dark, and the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrays that same annoyance that’s been tapering off for the last few minutes. He rolls onto his side as she makes herself comfortable at the head of her bed, legs crossed and chin propped on her hand as she looks down at him. Josh drums his fingers against her knee with an expression that’s less a thoughtful look and more of a pout, and then he gives it a squeeze.

“You’re not supposed to make fun of guests, Sammy, especially me. That's rude.”

“You broke into my room. I think I’m allowed to do anything I want.” She has to mentally prepare herself for the innuendo, for him to somehow twist her words into some dirty joke with a lewd grin.

“I didn’t _break_ in, you _let_ me in,” he huffs, and he offers her a quick mock scowl before he’s sitting up enough to tug his sweatshirt up over his head, and if the exposed skin from his t-shirt riding up catches her eye, she’s only human. Only human with her best friend’s older brother in her bed, and she’s just lucky it’s dark enough in her room that he can’t see the flash of red creeping up the back of her neck.

“As flattered as I am, I don’t recall asking for a one a.m. strip show.” She smiles at the muffled bark of laughter, short-lived and smothered by his hoodie before he deposits it at the foot of the bed, left among her blankets.

“I could always come back at two—I have a pretty open schedule.” And there it is, the little eyebrow wiggle. How could they go through this or any exchange without one of those?

“Oh my, what a gentleman,” she says, dropping her hand from her face to flick one of his knuckles. “You sure know how to treat a lady.”

“I possess a very particular set of skills,” he intones, and the look he’s giving her would probably carry more weight if she could see it better. He shifts his hand when she goes to flick him again.

“Okay, Liam Neeson.”

“Ha! So you _have_ seen _Taken!_ ” His free hand does a little fist pump and earns an eye roll.

“I saw it with you, you dummy!” she shoots back, and then remembers to keep her voice down. She's nestled against the headboard and gazing down at him spread diagonally across her sheets, legs hanging over the side of the bed. He’d dragged her along with Beth, sat her right in between him and Chris and kept stealing the popcorn from her while she fought him for the armrest. “You spent the whole time going _I hope Qui-Gon doesn’t die in this one._ ”

“Aw, you remembered his name! Proud of you, kiddo,” he says, and Sam hides her face in her hands with a soft groan, sliding until she’s slouched on the pillow. The bed creaks, mattress dipping as he wriggles again, elbow at her hip. When she pulls away to look at him she finds he’s worked his way up the bed, laid out horizontal next to her, head propped up on his hand as he looks at her, her own dropping to her stomach. 

“Kind of kills it when you call me that.”

“It’s true though,” he intones, sniffs. “You’re a youngin’.”

“A youngin’? Thanks, grandpa.”

Josh pulls a face, exposing his teeth in a grimace. “Yeah, doesn’t do it for me. I retract a few of my previous statements.” Sam nestles against her pillow, tucking her feet under her blankets, gaze still on him as he glances back at her. “Guess it’s still kind of true, though; in a few months I’m leaving for college…”

That’s what gets her. The statement that peters off, hints at a question that lingers just beneath the surface, held back like it carries too much weight but not enough to share. He leaves in August, or August 21st, more specifically, all packed into his car and ready to drive off into the sunset with his parents as he ventures off into the great beyond, the next chapter of his life while the rest of his friends who aren't Chris are still fumbling their way through the last one of theirs, left behind in senior year. It’s not a goodbye, just a prolonged _see ya_.

But they still have two months, and two months is an awfully long time.

Sam reaches up to pat his cheek, lets it linger only for a second too long. “Whatever will you do without me?”

“Just fine, probably, if not better,” he says. She sticks out her tongue.

He drops his head and makes himself comfortable, back against the wall, and he just lucked out that she did some rearranging last week, otherwise bed-sharing would have been more of a game of trying not to fall off the edge. She mimics him, scoots until they’re eye level and rolls onto her side, hand tucked beneath her head and pillow. He’s watching her, watching like he’s waiting for something—for her or him to speak first she doesn’t know, like he’s looking for an answer she isn’t sure she can provide because she only has half a mind as to what the question is, and they may not even be on the same page.

“What?” she finally asks, gaze flickering between his eyes in the dark, and she can feel his boring right back into her. He’s quiet for a while, and she considers jokingly telling him he has to say something, or else she’s kicking him out of her bed. Better prepare to deal with her mother, who’s probably going to have a thought or two about a boy being in her daughter’s bed right now.

But she doesn’t, instead lets her question linger between them, settle in that space between their noses on her pillow, and she entertains the thought of reaching for his face again. Her yawn breaks the silence, and rather than reach for his cheek she’s covering her mouth.

“You should get some sleep, Sammy.”

She nods, keeping one eye cracked open to look at him. “You should still tell me why you’re in my room.”

Josh tugs the comforter back over her hip, up to her ribs where he pauses and then pulls away again, back over to his side of the bed, leaned against the wall. He stretches out and makes himself comfortable again, toes cracking and earning a small frown from her as he goes.

“I think you know why,” he says, soft enough that she isn’t sure if she heard him or if she waseven supposed to. She reminds herself to get answers in the morning, demand to know why the likes of J. Wash decided to climb up onto the porch and invite himself into her room because he couldn’t sleep, and curls back into the pillow they’re sharing. There’s another murmur or two she doesn’t quite catch, but he makes no move to repeat himself, and the nosy part of her is about ready to shut down for the night. 

At the very least, she mutters a _good night_ to him and gets an amused snort in response.

He’s gone by the time she wakes up in the morning, bedding mused where he’d laid at angle and his sweatshirt still left behind, swallowed up in the blankets.

The sweatshirt makes its way to the back of her closet and if she’s wearing it during the bonfire in her backyard that weekend, he doesn’t say anything, though the knowing look in his eye is a dead giveaway.

Two months is a long time.


	2. things you said through your teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > 2.) _things you said through your teeth_
> 
> it's not his fault, it really isn't, but maybe it's easier to pretend it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A revamped and tweaked old thing written for tumblr. You may have seen it, lmao. I've come to realize it's less "through your teeth" and more "don't talk to me" if there's any dialogue at all. I'm iffy as to how Sam's characterization came out in this one. Emotionally volatile ?? constipated ?? Something like that. This one's twice the length of the last one, so that's fun, lmao. Not my favorite tbh.
> 
> As always, special thanks to Court!

Jess is the one goading her, egging her on to finally make a move, all sly grins and a bony elbow to her ribs. The drive over had consisted of sidelong glances when she wasn’t touching up her lipstick at a red light, their conversation regarding the end of the school year sprinkled with asides about the outfit Sam had borrowed from her and _so are you gonna ask him out yet?_

“We’re all waiting for one of you to make a move,” Jess says, craning her neck to check for oncoming traffic before making a right turn. Sam, at least, has the decency not to try to play dumb. She’s not a good liar, anyway.

“Who—all of you?” she asks, pushing her hair back out of her face and more than just a little curious as to how many of their friends have been talking about them, and what they’re saying, at that. Hannah had asked her once, asked where she stood when it came to her brother during a sleepover last year, asked her like there was no right answer but she better not give her the wrong one. Maybe she was just lucky it was the one time she managed to get through a lie, or maybe Hannah was just sleepy and gullible.

“Only a couple of us,” Jess tells her, and turns to grin. “Don’t _worry_ so much! We just think it’s kind of cute, kind of sad, kind of wish you’d both just get on with it already.”

Sam mutters something about sharing the sentiment, but Jess continues talking and doesn’t catch it. She’s pulling up to the curb and throwing her car in park before Sam can say anything else. She goes to reach for the handle and pauses, and then she’s twisting back to face the passenger seat and playing with her keys.

“Do it tonight. Pull him aside for a second and then make your move, get some of that liquid courage and lay it all out, y’know?” That’s easier said than done, and Sam doesn’t hesitate to let her eyebrows crawl up her forehead. It isn’t as if she hasn’t had the opportunity to before—she’s a near constant in his house and he's one of the people she talks to the most. At their last get together he made it look like he was about to do something, finally quit toeing that line like they have been for the last few years and vault right on over it, but then he cleared his throat and asked if she wanted some help getting drinks. Fool that she was, she made a comment about him being her hero, but his only response to that was a smirk. “If he says no, then it’s his loss and he’s an idiot. I’m ostracizing him from the group for five years, at least.”

To be fair, Jess… does have a point though. The waiting game isn’t so much fun if there’s no set end date, like playing a bad round of phone tag, and apparently it’s less of a game and more of a painful will-they/won’t-they that the rest of their friends have to deal with, too.

And if Josh can’t grow a pair and do it himself, why shouldn’t she? She’s capable, and if he says no… well, that sucks a lot. She’ll mope for a bit and probably avoid him for the next little while like an adult.

“Okay,” she finally says, unbuckling. She nods and smiles at Jess, who in turn gives her a once-over with a self-satisfied look.

“If it helps, I don’t think Josh is that stupid.”

* * *

Emily greets them and immediately waves toward the kitchen where all the liquor is like a decent host. She gives Sam the same look Jess did in the car on the drive over, and the two laugh and bend their heads together like they’re sharing a secret over the din of the party. Sam shuffles, shifts her weight and lets her gaze wander over the crowd, tries to single out anyone else she possibly knows, could share more than two words with that don’t have something to do with school. The crowd’s a little on the small side, but they’re also early and then Emily’s pulling her away, so her focus shifts elsewhere.

“Ostracizing, huh?” Sam says, cup at her lips as she smirks, has to ready herself for the burn of vodka because Em always makes her drinks a little too strong. But maybe it’s liquid courage and all that, like Jess said, something to take the edge off and settle her nerves before she goes and potentially makes a fool of herself. But she’s also a lightweight, so after the first few gulps she relegates herself to taking it slow for the next little while. Can't properly ask a boy out if she can't form a sentence.

“I took the SAT,” Jess shoots back, and if she’s going to say anything else it’s interrupted by tonight’s subject making his entrance in typical Joshua Washington fashion, with a whoop that Mike meets with just as much enthusiasm. Jess winks and nudges her toward the living room where a mass of humanity has started congregating. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

* * *

Two a-little-too-strong drinks and some cramped dancing in, there are spots of color high up on her cheeks and a thin layer of perspiration at her hairline. He’d greeted her with one of those lop-sided grins and given her hip a squeeze, danced with her once—if that swaying he was doing could be called dancing—before declaring that he needed another drink. He’d squeezed her hip again, breath against the shell of her ear before he’d left her there, tone like he was hinting at something more to come, or maybe that was just the buzz in her latching onto little things.

She catches Jess’ eye across the room and smiles at her, gets a little thumbs up before she goes back to talking to Emily, Mike standing not too far away and chatting with one of his buddies. There’s a nervous chuckle bubbling up in her throat, and she wonders if Mike knows, if he’s in on it, and the look Jess gives her is like that final boost of confidence she needs, a real kick in the pants to go and get it together. Get a move on before she loses her chance, or preferably before they’re all old and grey.

She can do this, she decides. It’s been a few years in the making, been a long time coming since she realized the feelings she harbored for her best friend’s older brother were anything but strictly platonic. Been that way ever since the night last year she came across him in the kitchen chowing down on some Fritos for a late-night snack, turned to her with a stupid _sup_ and spent the next hour discussing _Star Wars_  in a fairly one-sided conversation while he poked at the freckles on her shoulder, let his touch linger.

As she weaves back through the crowd, navigates her way through a throng of people and around furniture that’s been shoved aside to make room for them all, she considers all the moments in the past, all those times she could have said something but didn’t, the times he could have but opted for a crooked grin or a dumb or lewd joke instead.

They’ve always been close, could have fooled the rest of the world because from the outsider’s perspective no friends stand that close together, no two people who are “just friends” act the way they do. With them there is no personal space, no bubble that they haven't popped or otherwise shared; they orbit one another like their own little galaxy, their friends cropping up to visit on occasion while she curls into his side on movie night or his hand comes to rest at the small of her back as they walk. There’s the banter and the wit and all the playful flirting between them, the stuff that sends mixed signals because there’s no follow through.

Sam ducks down the hall past Emily’s father’s study, hears the low rubble that is Josh’s laugh, and she tries to school her expression into something that doesn’t betray her nerves. Maybe it’s a nervous excitement, she tells herself, because, well, why would he say no? Jess said it’s almost like they're already a thing, so might as well seal the deal. This is what she’s been waiting for.

She has no real game plan, nothing to work off of aside from a mental cue card that says _Hey, Josh,_ and another that says _???_ but it’s him so she figures she’ll be fine working on the fly. She can do this. She just has to ask Josh to—

—maybe come up for air, dislodge himself from the girl who currently has her tongue down his throat. A girl who is decidedly _not_ Sam, who’s instead currently standing there behind him and staring at him.

For a solid minute she does little more than stare at the back his head, get out a strangled little noise from the back of her throat that was supposed to be his name, and her chest hurts. If there were butterflies in her stomach before, they’re all solidified into a rock that’s sloshing around with some vodka and cranberry juice.

Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was a bad idea, maybe she put way too much stock into things. She stumbles back, bumping the doorknob to the downstairs bathroom as she goes, and darts into the room so she doesn’t have to watch the girl’s hands wander and grope his ass.

She plops herself down on the lid of the toilet and tries not to feel too stupid, but it’s hard not to when she feels like an idiot. Maybe she thought too hard on everything, over-analyzed things too much, all the sidelong glances and the way his hand would graze her arm or grab hers, or the way he looked at her. But her friends saw that too, right?

And maybe she’s just overreacting, but _fuck_. Fuck, doesn’t it figure. Isn’t it just her luck.

She buries her face in her hands, doesn’t pay much heed to whether or not she’s potentially messing up her makeup, and gives herself a few minutes to pout, bemoan herself and her sorry situation because the boy she likes is in the next room playing tonsil hockey with someone she’s never met before, someone whose name he probably doesn’t even know, someone who isn't her.

The water is cold when she splashes it over her face, pats her cheeks dry and eyes the red face reflected back at her from the mirror. The eyes staring back at her are glassy, her cheeks burning. This is so stupid, something so insignificant to get upset over, but just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

…should it hurt? It shouldn’t, right? She runs her hands over her face again, smooths down her hair and tries to come up with her next plan of attack, a Plan C where she feels less like an idiot and more like she’s just drinking at a party and having fun with her friends.

When she comes back out Jess asks her how it went, and the look on her face is more than answer enough.

She snags a water bottle from the fridge and lets the sliding glass door slip shut behind her.

* * *

It’s just jealousy, it has to be. Right? Green’s not the best color on her, and it’s not… not like she has a claim to Josh or what he does or who he does it with. It’s not like he hasn’t done shit like this before, because he’s not exactly celibate and she’s not exactly stupid.

Only she feels pretty stupid right about now.

She takes another swig from her bottle, leans against the railing of the veranda and looks out over the expanse that is the Davis’ groomed backyard. Matt had joined her outside for a few minutes, said he watched her walk out and wanted to make sure she was doing okay, and she’d told him that she just needed some air, the house was too hot and she’d drank too much. He’d nodded, told her to let him know if she needed a ride or something, and ducked back in to let her admire the trimmed hedges and the rose bushes by the stairs in peace.

The door clicks open, and she waits for Matt to say something again, for Jess to give her a piece of her mind and demand details. 

Instead, she gets a: “ Hey, Sammy.” 

He’s so casual about it too, saunters right up to the railing, all Washington swagger and the scent of beer, and she’s surprised there aren’t more people out here, aren't more witnesses.

“Hey,” she says, because ignoring him would just send up red flags, and as much as she finds he’s the last person she wants to speak to right now (let her sort through the emotion baggage she’s given herself first), she doesn’t want to give him reasons to feel like he has to go digging.

“What’re you hiding out here for? The masses too much for you?” he asks because oh, he’s going to cut right to it, isn’t he. Josh leans back against the rail, arms folded and eyes on her profile while she continues to give the rose bush a good stare down. She can see his brow knit out of the corner of her eye when she doesn't make a joke back, doesn't go along with his. “You okay?”

The wood digs into her stomach.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she says, and if her voice sounds a little strained, it comes out a bit more intelligible after she clears her throat. “Just wanted to get some air for a minute.”

“You’ve been out here for like twenty minutes,” Josh says, and when he leans over into her space she can see his collar is still mused, and there’s a dark mark on the column of his throat, and she can’t tell if it’s lipstick or a hickey or just a shadow cast by the lighting behind her. For some reason that doesn’t settle all that well in her gut. God, green is really not her color. "You drink too much? You okay, Sammy?"

God, why does he have to use that stupid name? She used to hate it until he started calling her that.

Sam shrugs and moves away under the guise of uncrossing her legs. She has yet to meet his gaze and that’s something he’s bound to pick up on in the next thirty seconds, say something else or touch the small of her back like he always does, and she has no plan for what to do if that happens.

“I’m good, Josh. I am, I swear,” she says, a little too insistent when she finally looks at him, meets that concerned look of his and gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just been a long day and I’m tired, that’s it.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” he says, and god, _now_ he has to push?

She always wore her heart on her sleeve though, and he could always read her like an open book. Which part is he on right now? The prologue or the epilogue? Did he read the part that had potential, or did he just skip to the end and call it a night?

“Josh, don’t.” Her throat’s tight and her chest hurts, a combination of alcohol and nerves, all the what ifs and the idea she built up in her head, all of it come crashing down like a house of cards sloppily put together because the boy she likes is more interested in pursuing other girls.

"Don't what? Sam, what's up? You're never the one to duck out of a party—that's more Ashley's thing."

"I just wanted some air," she repeats, like her words will have more of an impact the more she says them, like they'll get the point across even if he ignored them the first time.

He frowns, and that's not a good look on him, either. "Someone do something?"

Ha, isn't that a good one. She almost wants to laugh, but his expression's too dark.

"No, Josh, I'm fine."

"You don't look—"

"Jesus, Josh, I said I'm fine!" It comes out too sharp, too annoyed and grating, like the words hooked into the sides of her throat and clawed their way up before she spat them out. She's just digging herself into a hole now, going to leave him questioning and badgering where she should have just kept her mouth shut or gone along with his stupid jokes. Let him be none the wiser to the emotional plight she's found herself in. (God, is this how Hannah feels?)

Josh balks, has the nerve to scoff a little as he pushes away from the railing and stands to his full height. "What are you getting all pissed at me for?"

Does it count as rejection if he didn’t even know, if he didn’t even physically say no?

"I want to go _home_ ," she tells him, words seeping out like she's deflating, because if she has to stand here any longer she's likely to start crying, all snot and tears and runny makeup to coincide with the aftertaste of vodka and cranberry juice on the back of her tongue as she goes. And won't that be a sight to see, won't that be another can of worms she doesn't want to address with him right now, because right now she's pretty buzzed and upset because the boy she was about to ask out she found making out with another girl. And that's fine, that's fair, but it hurts and it sucks, and what's he gonna do, laugh at her? Laugh at her because right now Sammy's being dumb and upset over something that probably shouldn't upset her, but here she is anyway.

But Jess is right, he can’t be that stupid—or at least in that regard. It can’t all be one-sided, he has to have seen the way she looks at him, too, has to have picked up on the way their interactions aren’t the ones that happen between people who are “just friends.”

“I’m gonna head home. I’ll catch you later, okay?” she gets out, jaw clenched and throat working in the dark, still tight and sore. If she’s trying not to give him a reason to worry or pry she’s failing miserably, and she can see it in his face when she pulls away entirely, in his body when he stands a little straighter and moves like he’s about to reach out, but she won’t meet him halfway. Let her mope for a bit on her own, get over herself and remind herself that maybe he _is_ interested, just… not right now. She doesn't know, doesn't have it in her to find out right this second.

Jess drops her off at home and looks more than just a little annoyed. She isn’t above telling her that boys are fucking idiots, lips twisted as she scowls. Sam shrugs and says it sucks but it is what it is, even if her voice wavers and she can hardly look at the girl beside her. Jess pats her hand, says they'll figure something out, even if she has to kick Josh's ass. The smile Sam gives her in return is weak.

There are two pictures she can’t get out of her head as she lies awake that night: Josh with his tongue down another girl’s throat, and the look on his face when she walked away from him.

* * *

The real kicker is Mike asking Josh how things went with Sam afterwards, as they lounge in the chaos that is Emily’s living room. He reaches over to punch his arm, asks when their first official date is because it’s about time, even if he is a bit disappointed in him for making her ask. Josh has no clue what he's talking about, until suddenly he does.


End file.
